Silent Night
by jasmine105
Summary: It's Christmas, and old memories and regrets surface as both Horatio and Calleigh struggle to find some joy in the holiday. A Christmas one-shot for those who enjoy DuCaine.


(Note: This story takes place roughly around Season 3; John Hagan has died as has Speed – and, so far as anyone knows, Raymond Caine is dead.)

**SILENT NIGHT**

_**Silent Night, Holy Night...**_

Horatio yawned and rubbed a hand across his weary eyes. Glancing at the old plastic clock on his desk, he saw that it was well after midnight; he should have left the office hours ago. Especially on this particular night... a night when the Crime Lab was, except for a skeleton crew, all but deserted.

Yes, he should go home. He knew that. Should have done so hours ago.

_Why__?_ asked the voice inside his head. _This day is no different than any other..._

Reluctantly, he began to gather up the papers on his desk. He'd gotten a lot done by staying late. _You can do that when there's nothing – no one – to go home to. _He frowned. What was this? Self-pity? He wasn't one to entertain that emotion, even briefly. It was unbecoming; it was not who he was.

Usually.

It was just... it was just that there seemed to be something about the holiday season that brought up sad feelings, memories... regrets. If he could have one Christmas wish, it would be for a 'reset' button. How often, and at how many points in his life, had he wished he could just start over, do things differently, experience life differently?

Lately, the thought had been recurring with depressing regularity.

A reset button. The idea made him smile, but not pleasantly.

_**All is calm, all is bright...**_

He rose from his desk and walked over to the large plate glass window. Resting his right shoulder against the window's framing, his melancholy eyes took in the display of twinkling lights that lit up Miami.

Christmas lights.

Briefly, his fanciful thoughts drifted toward visions of happy families, tucked safely into their beds this Christmas Eve night. _Christmas Day,_ he admonished himself, recalling that it was past midnight. _It's already __Christmas Day._

What a host of memories those two words brought to mind. Not all good, but not all bad, either.

He smiled slightly as a memory of his mother's small and cluttered kitchen surfaced. Sarah Caine had been a fine cook, and her kitchen always bustled with activity in the days leading up to the Christmas holiday. Even now Horatio could recall the comforting smells of cinnamon and nutmeg, of fragrant cookies and cakes baking in the old, battered oven. He remembered how the enticing aromas would drift into the other rooms of the tiny house, eventually mingling with the fresh evergreen scent of the small tree that stood in the crowded living room.

He always wondered how his mother managed things during the holidays. She was always so busy, taking in ironing and laundry from neighborhood women in order to earn some extra money. Still, she always arranged to get the cleaning and baking done at home. How many times had he and Raymond, on either side of the harried woman, clamored to lick the spoon she used to mix sugary ingredients? Too many – and with always the same outcome: after much importuning, she'd give in, handing the boys the large wooden spoon and ancient, chipped mixing bowl. She'd wipe her hands on her faded apron, grinning, and watch them scape the remains of the doughy concoction from the bowl and then pop spoonfuls of it into their mouths. When the last delicious bits had been carefully extracted from the bowl, he and his brother would sit down at the scarred kitchen table, waiting expectantly for the first warm cookies to be lifted off the baking sheet and into their excited hands.

A good memory.

His mother had been happiest when she was baking their holiday treats. He loved watching her capable, flour-stained hands roll out thin layers of cookie dough, all the while humming Christmas carols under her breath. He and Ray would each take a glass and turn it upside down, using the glass's rim to press circles into the dough's floured surface - it was a poor man's version of a cookie cutter. It didn't matter to the Caine boys; they'd had few treats in their lives. Helping their mother, watching her sturdy hands, hearing her happily humming carols was a gift of sorts. She'd smile at the boys' efforts, sprinkling sugared cinnamon over the newly cut rounds.

It was all so average. So happily average. They were just like any other happy family.

And then the old man would come home. And everyone would be on edge. Would he be in a good mood? Had he been drinking? Was the money from his paycheck still in his pocket or had it been used to buy drinks at the bar down the street?

And the ever present worry – the need to be on guard for fear of creating the least infraction, the fear of igniting his fierce temper, of getting yelled at... the terror of something worse...

Looking out at the twinkling lights, Horatio sighed at the memory of so many tension-filled Christmases, of anxious holidays spent watching the amounts of liquor his father would consume, and worrying whether this might be a day when he'd be a happy drunk... or a violent one.

**_Round yon virgin, mother and child..._**

His thoughts drifted to his brother. Gone, just like his father, his mother. There were no ties to his childhood now... only those that remained in his head.

Tomorrow he'd stop by and spend a few hours with Yelina and his nephew, exchange some gifts. That had long been his Christmas tradition, going back to the days when his brother was still alive. Now Ray was gone, but Yelina's brothers and their families would be there, as would Yelina's mother who always looked at Horatio with disapproval.

She didn't like him, that was obvious; she hadn't liked Ray either, and maybe with good reason. Being involved with the Caine brothers had not been the happiest experience for the Colombian woman's beautiful daughter. Horatio wished that weren't the case, but it was. The older woman's mournful black eyes were rich with reproach, as if she held him accountable for her daughter's sadness. Always diligent, his conscience readily accepted the blame, deserved or not. He desperately wished he could make Yelina smile again, bring some happiness her way. _Some love?_ Yes... maybe... but the thought that she'd been his brother's wife always held him back. Even now. Maybe always.

Still, there was his nephew to consider, really the only link to his past, to his family. The young boy was a ticking time bomb, carrying around the weight of his father's tarnished name and a large hole in his heart where the love of a father should be. Horatio worried about the kid, worried whether his sadness and anger might one day get him into trouble. He tried to be a presence in the boy's life, tried to be a father to him. But no one can really take the place of a boy's father. Ray Jr. would continue to experience both grief and anger toward Raymond; Horatio saw that clearly, and only hoped he could help the youth deal with his conflicting emotions.

Pushing away from the window, his eyes settled on the gift box sitting on his desk, its discarded wrappings strewn nearby. It was a Christmas gift from his team, and had been presented to him at the party held earlier that day.

What a somber affair that had been... the first Christmas party since Speed's death.

_Christ. Now why did he allow his thoughts to return to that?_

Well, try as he would to ignore it, he couldn't. The death of their friend and colleague still cast a pall over the office, and especially the party. Eric had looked gloomy, and seemed on edge, even leaving the party for a short period of time before deciding to return; Frank's jokes had fallen on deaf ears; and even Calleigh had been uncharacteristically quiet. Speed's name had not been mentioned, but his memory still made him a presence, and the atmosphere at the party had been tinged with melancholy.

Horatio removed the small antique desk clock from its box and sat it on his desk. A grim smile caused the corners of his mouth to turn downward. A reminder of time... and its passage.

Oh, for a 'reset' button.

_Enough of this!_ he thought, picking up the wrappings and dumping them into the wastebasket. After a moment, he picked up his old plastic desk clock and dumped it, too, into the basket. _Out with the old; in with the new._

He hated it when his mind turned toward funereal musings. It wasn't his way to dwell on things he couldn't change. He had learned a long time ago to ignore impossible situations; concentrate on the here and now. On his ride to work the other day, he'd chanced upon the platitudes of a pop psychologist while listening to the radio. What had she said? Oh yes, now he remembered: 'When the past tries to call you, let it go to voice mail; it has nothing new to say.'

_Good advice, that, but easier said than done_, he thought, flipping off the light switch in his office. If only the past could be banished once and for all. Instead, it seemed to lie in wait for him, eager for ambush when he least expected it.

Well, not tonight. Tonight he'd make an effort to send that unwanted caller to 'voice mail'.

* * *

**_Holy infant so tender and mild..._**

Stepping out into the clear, starry stillness of a Miami winter night, Horatio glanced at the large brightly lit Christmas tree that decorated the front grounds of the Crime Lab. Next to the tree was a sign with scarlet and green lettering: _HAPPY HOLIDAYS!_ Until a few years prior, a large creche had been displayed outside the Lab; now in a desire to be more politically correct, it had been removed in favor of the more generic 'Happy Holidays'. Well, Horatio supposed he understood; still, his Catholic sensibility missed the creche and the feeling of peace it often gave him when leaving the office late at night during the Christmas season.

Heading toward the parking lot for his car, he suddenly noticed the familiar, canary-yellow Mustang sitting in a part of the lot not as well lit as the rest. His eyes had almost missed it in the darkness. He frowned, curious to see the little sports car parked there this late at night. _Has something happened?_ His heart began to beat unpleasantly fast, worried at what he might see as he approached the quiet vehicle.

_She's probably just left the car here, _he thought, _and went on to a party with one of the others_. Hadn't Valera mentioned a holiday party at one of the local clubs? Yes... she probably left the car, planning to pick it up later.

At least he hoped so. Horatio possessed enough bad memories to last him a lifetime; he didn't think he could take another. Not on this night of all nights. And not one having to do with _her_.

Hoping to find the vehicle empty, he experienced a jolt of fear when he saw the pretty blonde sitting inside, her eyes closed and her head resting against the driver's seat. He rapped gently against the glass with the knuckles of two fingers, but the young woman didn't stir. Fear made him impatient and he rapped again, this time much more loudly. Her eyes fluttered open and she turned in his direction, confusion making her squint. He motioned for her to lower the window.

"Calleigh, are you alright?" His eyes made a quick survey of her face, her body. She seemed unharmed.

She cleared her throat, coughing once. "I think so. I... um... was just thinking... and I guess I dozed off."

So great was his relief that for a moment he said nothing, but then he spied the bottle sitting on the floor of the passenger's side.

"How about a little company? Unlock the door, please." He walked around to the other side of the vehicle, opened the door and gracefully slid into the seat. Calleigh reached for the bottle, hoping to move it out of sight, but Horatio stayed her hand.

"Don't bother," he said, meeting her eyes. "I already spotted it." He picked up the bottle, and saw that the level of the liquor inside had been only slightly diminished. "What's this all about, Calleigh?"

Unable to meet his gaze, she closed her eyes and again rested her head against the seat. "I don't know. I, um, just needed a friend tonight."

Horatio looked at the bottle with its trademark black and white label, and then at her. "Look at me, Calleigh."

Reluctantly she opened her eyes. What he saw in them worried him. In fact, her entire countenance concerned him. What had happened to his sunshine girl, the pretty blonde with the warm, quick laughter, the witty remarks, and a smile that could light up a room? Loyal, always-to-be-depended-upon Calleigh. His friend.

The woman sitting beside him looked older to him suddenly; her usually sparkling green eyes were dull and sad. The word 'hopeless' came to mind, but he quashed the thought. Not Calleigh; 'hopeless' wasn't in her vocabulary.

"Sweetheart," he began, searching for just the right words, "what are you _doing_?" He gestured toward the bottle he held. "Jack Daniels is nobody's friend."

"Tell my dad that," she replied softly, so softly that Horatio had to lean closer inside the quiet car to catch the whispered remark.

"Is that what this is about... your father?"

"Partly."

"Only partly?"

"It's been a terrible year, Horatio."

He nodded. There was no disputing that.

She paused before continuing, and Horatio could see that she was struggling to maintain her composure. "John... and then Speed. Things sure looked better this time last year, don't you think? Who would have ever thought that John would... "

Her voice trailed off, and he knew what she was remembering. _Hagan_. The man had taken his psychosis into the Ballistics Lab where Calleigh had been working, and killed himself before her eyes. Even now the thought of that night angered Horatio. He understood that Hagan was ill, but _damn it!_ To so indulge his own neediness by shooting himself in front of the woman who once loved him was beyond Horatio's understanding – or sympathy. He had no special feeling for people who took their own lives. Life was both a struggle and a gift. God knows there was enough ugliness in the world without contributing to it.

Before he could comment, Calleigh continued. "And Speed. You saw how everyone was at the Christmas party, Horatio. We're the walking wounded. Poor Eric... he's still not over it."

That was true. His thoughts settled once again on the freewheeling Cuban who'd been so quiet during the party; his eyes so somber. Horatio began to feel a chill as the reality of Speed's death once again washed over him. Eric wasn't the only one having problems getting over their friend's death.

As he met Calleigh's eyes, he remembered his own desolation the night she brought him the official findings on the misfiring of Speed's gun.

He also remembered suddenly needing the feel of a warm body against his, and the urgency for something – _someone_ – to hold onto. That someone had been Calleigh, and he remembered how it felt to hold the length of her body close to his – the warm comfort of it. The solace of it. Holding her in a tight embrace, he'd wanted to absorb her, take her inside of himself, if he could...

She was soft, and yet she was steel. He admired that about her, always had. No simpering girl was his Calleigh; no, his friend was a steel magnolia. Gentle and tender when need be, but tough when toughness was called for.

But not now... now something was amiss. There was sadness lurking in the corners of her usually smiling lips, and it moved him unbearably. He'd never realized how much he took her happiness for granted – or how much strength he derived from it. Too see Calleigh so uncertain and blue shook him. It was as if the world as he knew it had suddenly been turned inside out.

**Sleep in heavenly peace... sleep in heavenly peace...**

Something of the fear and confusion he suddenly felt must have shown in his expression because a sad smile began to work its way across Calleigh's face. "I'm sorry, Horatio. Don't mind me. I'm not myself tonight. Got a call from Dad's favorite haunt... had to pick him up. Again. Took him home, cleaned him up, and got him into bed." Her voice suddenly wobbled a bit and Horatio watched as she dabbed at some unwanted moisture in the corner of her eyes. "You know... it's just... it's always the same...'Lambchop, I'm sorry, darlin' – I'll do better next time. I will... next time.'"

Harsh laughter bubbled up, the sound of it brittle and so unlike Calleigh's usual happy tones, that it took Horatio aback. "But there never is a next time, Horatio. Next time never comes."

_A reset button_, thought Horatio once more. _If only there was a reset button. The things we do to those we love. _

His heart ached at the sadness in her voice, the wounded look in her eyes.

**_'Neath the silent stars, a town is sleeping..._**

She looked away from him, her eyes seeming to stare out the windshield into the twinkling stars set deep in the soft, inky blackness. His eyes followed hers, unsure what to say to her. He knew all about promises made and broken. He knew what it was to hope for miracles and never receive them. He didn't want this for her... not for Calleigh. _His much loved Calleigh_, who was closer than a friend in many ways.

Looking out at the sky, he said, "You know, Calleigh, the answer isn't to be found in that bottle. How much did you drink?"

"Not much, just a shot or two." A sheepish chuckle escaped her. "Guess I'm not used to the hard stuff, though. Made me sleepy. I figured I'd just sit here for a few minutes, close my eyes. You know?"

He turned his own eyes from the sky to her profile. "What I know is that this could have been a serious mistake... an officer with liquor on her breath, driving home. You know better than that, sweetheart."

In the moonlight, Calleigh's beauty was not to be denied, and his eyes lingered on the soft white skin, the straight nose, the tender, rose-colored lips. She _was_ beautiful – much too beautiful to be so alone and sad on Christmas Eve. His Calleigh, his friend, deserved more than that.

He thought of her broken family; of the lover who'd killed himself in front of her. He remembered the peculiar Peter Elliott who pretended to be interested in her, all the while engaged to another. What was wrong with these people that they could hurt such a good person as his Calleigh?

She yawned suddenly, and a tender smile curved about Horatio's lips. "Okay, sunshine, time for you to go home – past your bedtime, I'd say."

"I suppose... tomorrow I have to head back over to Dad's and make sure he's presentable for viewing by his grandkids."

He nodded. "Going to your sister's for Christmas Day, huh?"

"Yeah," she said softly. "Afton handles the family celebrations and holidays. My brother and me... we're, um... we're the vagabonds. Afton figured it out early: married a nice man, has two great kids. She's good at handling Dad, too. There won't be any wine at tomorrow's dinner."

Horatio smiled. "Yes... well."

**_Flocks are safe within the fold, secure from danger, want or cold..._**

"What about you?" she asked suddenly. "Do you have plans?"

He correctly read the concern in her voice and it touched him. Slowly, his steel magnolia was regrouping, gathering herself again, leaving moroseness behind. "I'm going to spend the afternoon with Ray, Jr. Yelina invites me every year."

Calleigh gave him a penetrating stare. In the cover of darkness, she worked up the nerve to confront him. "You're carrying a torch for her, aren't you?"

"Am I that easy to read?" he asked, wanting, suddenly, to take refuge from her appraising glance.

"Maybe only to me. I've known you for quite awhile, remember?"

"I do... I remember the first time I saw you. I'd been called down to New Orleans to offer an assist on the Boudreaux murder case..."

He smiled at the memory. "There you were, studying the confiscated weapon, a look of pure joy on your face... wide-eyed, blond, a swinging pony-tail. I was about to dismiss you as a lightweight, and then you looked up, and I saw the sharp intelligence behind the butter-wouldn't-melt-in-your-mouth exterior."

A grin suddenly appeared on her face. "You men... you always miss the more subtle points." She suddenly reconsidered. "But not you... you caught on to me right away, didn't you?"

"I did. And I wanted you for my team. Took a lot of talking, though, to get you to come to Miami... quite a few dinners, as a matter of fact."

"I remember," she said softly. She looked closely at him. "But in the end, I knew I couldn't do anything else. You had me at 'hello', Lieutenant." Her grin turned into a misty smile. "There's no one else I could ever work for."

**_Silent, silent night... holy, holy night..._**

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, and then Calleigh reached for his hand. "She's not the one for you, Horatio."

Startled, he sat up stiffly. "What do you mean?"

"I mean Yelina. She's a good woman, but she's not the one for you. You know that, don't you? Deep down?"

"She's my sister-in-law," he replied, uncomfortable at the turn the conversation was taking.

"I know... but I also know that sometimes... well, sometimes, you wish for more than that."

He said nothing, looking at Calleigh's hand resting lightly on his.

"Oh, I suppose you think I'm bold," she continued, her voice soft. "Maybe I am. Maybe it's the shots of Jack Daniels I've had. Maybe it's because it's Christmas and it makes me sort of sad, brings back a lot of memories I'd rather forget. But... Horatio?"

He looked up from the delicate hand laying atop his. "Ma'am?" he replied softly.

She took a deep breath. "Maybe I just care a little too much to see you go down a road of heartbreak. Can you forgive me for speaking my mind?"

He raised the hand atop his to his lips and lightly kissed it. "Calleigh Duquesne, I think I could forgive you just about anything." He gently released her hand and opened the car door. Standing up, he gestured toward the seat he'd just vacated. "Okay, beautiful – out of the driver's seat. That's my place now. You still look a little bleary-eyed to me. Consider me your chauffeur for tonight."

"But your car..." she began.

"No worries. After I drop you off, I'll take your car home... Frank will pick me up in the morning and we'll deliver it back to you, and then go pick up mine."

"Poor Tripp... won't he object to being sent on such an errand on Christmas morning?"

"Nope – don't worry about Francis. His ex-wife took the kids to Disney World for Christmas vacation – didn't even invite him. Guess she knew it wouldn't be his thing. Frank is going to Yelina's tomorrow with me." He smiled suddenly. "Can you imagine Frank in Disney World?"

Calleigh shook her head as she relaxed in the seat next to Horatio. "No," she replied softly. "Can't say I can."

**_Sleep in peace..._**

Twenty-five minutes later they pulled up in front of Calleigh's small stucco house. It was completely dark, inside and out. Horatio looked over at her; she'd fallen into a light sleep. Her eyes were closed, dark bristly lashes resting gently against soft, alabaster skin. Her lips were slightly parted and for a brief moment, Horatio felt a keen desire to drop a soft kiss against them.

He refrained and, turning off the ignition, stepped out of the car. He walked around to Calleigh's side and carefully opened the door. Reaching in, he gently cupped her face. "Hey, Sleeping Beauty," he said, his voice soft in the quiet darkness, "we've arrived at the castle."

Her eyes opened and she looked at Horatio, and felt his gentle touch against her cheek. "Guess I fell asleep again. Not very good company tonight. I'm sorry."

He touched the tip of her nose with an index finger. "Not to worry. Let's get you inside." He held out his hand and she stepped out of the car. Together they walked up the few steps leading to her front door.

"Have your key?" he asked.

She nodded and handed it to him. He inserted the key into the lock and opened the door. He quickly flicked on the light switch on the inside wall. After a brief look, he motioned her inside.

Horatio paused in front of still-open door, and for a moment the two stood there awkwardly, almost as if they were suddenly shy with one another.

"Coffee? Won't take but a minute to put some on," she said.

He shook his head. "No, I don't think so. It's time to say goodnight, Calleigh."

Still, he stood there, as if unable to move. "Calleigh, I wish you a Happy Christmas. Don't let the troubles with your father overwhelm you, okay? You can't make it right, sweetheart; only he can. Understand?"

She smiled slightly, nodding.

Horatio turned to leave, but suddenly Calleigh put out a restraining hand, stopping him. He looked at her with surprise. "Calleigh?"

"Horatio, when I..." she stopped, her voice uncertain, but then something in his eyes told her to be honest. "Horatio, when I said I needed a friend... well, I didn't mean the whiskey.

"I didn't end up on that parking lot because I didn't know where else to go. I ended up there because I knew I had a friend... a friend who was working late... a friend who also, perhaps, didn't want to be alone tonight.

"And... I know my friend has some painful memories... the kind of memories that only another friend can help him heal."

Her voice faltered, and she was forced to stop. Her eyes, however, continued the conversation, looking deeply into Horatio's, communicating the feelings her words could not.

Taking a deep breath, she began again. "I need a friend tonight and so do you. Not just any friend... but someone who loves me... someone I love. Be my friend tonight, Horatio!"

Horatio's heart began to beat a rapid tattoo. _Oh, Calleigh, sweetheart... this isn't smart..._

"Calleigh," he said, trying for logic even though his heart demurred, "we work together... this could get... difficult. I don't want to jeopardize what we have..."

She stood there, her long blond hair gently sweeping her shoulders, her eyes wide as saucers and filmed with moisture. She looked at him imploringly. "I need a friend tonight... so do you. I love you, Horatio; I guess I always will. You're my closest friend... please... please, be my friend tonight."

Horatio found he was unable to resist the look in her eyes... in fact, he didn't want to resist. Not tonight. Maybe tomorrow, maybe in the light of day, he'd feel differently; maybe she would. But tonight... tonight he suddenly wanted to lay down beside her, experience her softness, her warmth. He didn't want to return to the coldness of his solitary bed, to the ghosts of departed family members and friends. He certainly didn't want a visitation from old memories.

Not on Christmas.

Calleigh moved forward, meaning to kiss him lightly, but suddenly Horatio pulled her to himself, embracing her fully, molding her body to his, and loving the feeling of it, wanting more, needing more.

"Calleigh... I can't promise you anything... do you understand this?" His voice was rough and low as he spoke softly in her ear. "I don't want us to do something stupid... I don't want to hurt you..."

"Then stay with me," she said, her own voice rich with unshed tears. She pulled back slightly, just enough to look closely at him. "Stay with me... for just this night."

Horatio leaned his body backward, causing the door to close behind him, while Calleigh clung to him. "I'll stay, sweetheart."

"Merry Christmas, Horatio," she whispered, and kissed him deeply.

And then nothing more was said.

_**Sleep in heavenly peace... in peace.**_

**THE END**

**Author's Note –  
****May the spirit of the season gladden your hearts and bring you peace and joy.  
****Thank you for supporting my stories this year; I'm very grateful.  
****Wishing each of you a happy, healthy and prosperous 2014.**


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